


Push Up Punch Card

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Dean's Tiny Red Shorts, M/M, Matchmaker Charlie Bradbury, Personal Trainer Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: An attractive man in tiny red shorts really,reallywants to buy Castiel's next drink at the coffee stand.





	Push Up Punch Card

**Author's Note:**

> hello! just something sweet to start your day.

Castiel hits the same coffee stand drive-thru at the same time, on the same day, every week. Calling Castiel a creature of habit is never an insult; he has his life put together very much due to this diligence, and any time anything goes awry, it’s an effective wrench in his plans. Ever since he was little, his parents and teachers had realized that he needed structure and definition to the ever-changing world. Routine became his security blanket, and eventually, routine became something he flourished at.

Which is why, at the tender age of twenty-six, he is project manager of the local parks and recreation remodel crew. 

In any case, that’s besides the point.

Castiel hits the same coffee stand drive-thru at the same time, on the same day, every week. 

He drives an old Lincoln Continental and when the line in the drive-thru is long he has to kill the engine to make sure it doesn’t overheat. It’s mid-summer, the heat clinging to him because his air conditioner is broken and all of his windows are down. He drums his fingers along the braided cord steering wheel cover that he never replaced when he bought the car from the old man down the street, and he should probably roll up the sleeves of his button-down to alleviate some of the heat currently suffusing his body, but he stays reclined, Tchaikovsky playing softly from his cassette player. 

The drive-thru he frequents also has a walk-up window, but Castiel rarely sees anyone at it. This morning, however, bright red catches the corner of his gaze and when he turns his head slightly to regard the person from behind the safety of his aviator glasses, Castiel finds himself arching a brow.

Standing at the window is no mere mortal.

He is a Greek god. 

Tanned, freckled skin stretched taut over hard dips and curves of muscles, tiny red little shorts that only show off the glorious curve of his… ahem. He’s pulling a small athletic bag off of his bare shoulders and reaching into it, laughing loudly (beautifully) at something the barista says from the other side of the window. He gets a bottle of water, sneaks a few dollars into the tip jar, and then salutes the barista as he swings his bag onto his back once more.

He uncaps the water, tips his head back, and _guzzles_.

Castiel’s brain short circuits a bit, watching the man’s throat work and flex to take all of the water with hardly a swallow. Snapping his gaze straight ahead so he doesn’t get caught staring, Castiel’s knuckles turn white with his finger’s grip on the steering wheel.

When he chances another peek, the man is tossing his empty bottle into the recycle bin and then tightening the straps of his bag, taking off on a leisurely jog through the parking lot to get to the street. 

Holy wow. 

\--

Castiel hits the same coffee stand drive-thru at the same time, on the same day, every week.

As the weeks go by, he realizes someone else does, too. 

The fourth time he sees the jogger he’s wearing blue instead of red and Castiel slouches a bit in his car, as if for some reason that perfect hunk of human being will have any sort of inclination to look his way. 

Misery is his mercy.

“Hey!” 

Castiel skittishly looks towards the man. His sandy hair is sweaty and sticking up in a few places and he’s wearing a white sweatband around his temples. Glancing around, Castiel tries to see who the man is talking to, but after a second the guy approaches his car where it’s parked in the, as usual, ridiculously long line. Bracing with one hand on the top of the car, the other hand on the sharp jut of his hip, Hercules leans down a little and flashes Castiel a smile. 

“Can I buy your drink today?” 

Castiel doesn’t think he squeaks, but he might. He shakes his head furiously, trying to sink further down into his seat. The man arches a brow, the slightest of amused smiles curling those plush, perfect lips, and his head tilts as he reaches the hand from his hip to lower his Raybans to the tip of his nose, exposing the prettiest green eyes Castiel has ever seen. 

“Whaddya get? C’mon. You sit in this line every Tuesday like it’s your job.” 

Adonis has noticed him? It must be this clunker of a car. Oh, goodness. “No thank you.” Castiel says, surprised at how even his voice comes out. 

This is the wrench in his routine.

The man purses his lips slightly, then cracks a smile. Oh, he’s gorgeous. He’s radiant. “Alright, man. Enjoy your day.” Knuckles rap on the roof of Castiel’s car and then the man goes up to the window, gets his bottle of water, and then jogs off towards the intersection. 

When Castiel approaches the window, his favorite redheaded barista Charlie is there to swoon for him. 

“Oh my God, Mr. Novak!” She refuses to call him by his first name, insisting that as a project manager, he’s Very Important. “Why didn’t you let him buy your drink?” 

Castiel bristles slightly. “You knew that’s what he wanted?”

Charlie rolls her eyes, handing the electronic tablet to Castiel. She has his order memorized and ready to go every time he pulls up. No one knows a coffee drinker’s habits like a barista. It’s comforting. As he applies the digital tip and signs, she says, “Last week he asked me what you like to drink. I told him he should ask you.” 

Castiel frowns as he hands Charlie the tablet and his punch card. “Why would he be interested?” 

Charlie stamps his card a little aggressively. “Mr. Novak, anyone who doesn’t think you’re hot as hell is blind or stupid.” She hands him his stamp card and takes Castiel’s drink from another barista, who had been preparing it while he paid. Before handing it over, she waggles a finger. “You _gotta_ let Tiny Shorts buy your drink next week. It’s called paying it forward! It’s all the rage at coffee stands.” 

Castiel holds out his hand patiently, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I will consider it, Charlie. Now please hand over my caffeine before I go nuclear.” Hearing that people think he’s attractive isn’t new, but it still makes his anxiety (and insecurities) flare up.

Charlie beams as she pushes the drink into his hand. “You’re so cute when you get all death threat-y at seven a.m.~”

\--

Castiel hits the same coffee stand drive-thru at the same time, on the same day, every week.

Tiny Shorts, as Charlie affectioantely calls him, shows up the following week as usual. Castiel idly wonders what kind of job the man has that allows him to jog at this time in the morning and be able to afford the ridiculously overpriced bottled water every week. Castiel’s americano is half the price, thank you very much. The man is always glistening with sweat, and he only seems to get tanner (Castiel has seen the outline of a can of sunscreen in his bag and finds himself oddly thankful that the man takes early morning sun seriously), and alright, Castiel is now not trying so hard to _not_ look at him. 

Years of feeling nothing remotely sexual are starting to catch up with him, spark by spark. 

Today he’s not so shell shocked when the man approaches his car again. 

He _is_ surprised, however, when the man’s fingers gently pinch the shoulder of Castiel’s tshirt. “Where’s the fancy duds?” 

Resisting the urge to squirm away, Castiel tilts his head so he can look up at the man from behind his aviators. “Probably in the same hole your manners fell in.” 

The man flashes him a wolfish smile. “Whatcha drinkin’ today?”

“Apparently you know what I drink,” Castiel says blandly. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t ask you,” the man points out. “What if you drink somethin’ different today?” 

“I won’t,” Castiel replies. 

The man straightens a bit. Castiel is eye-level with his bellybutton. “Rachmaninoff?” 

Castiel blinks. “Excuse me?” 

The man bends again so he can smile directly at Castiel. “You listen to a different composer each week.”

Heat flashes through Castiel, from embarrassment or pleasure he’s unsure. “I… do.” 

“Next week you should try Franz Liszt.” Again, the man’s knuckles rap on the roof of the car in departure, and Castiel is left stunned silent. 

The man gets his water, jogs away, and Charlie just gives Castiel a rather infuriatingly knowing smile when she hands him his coffee.

\--

Castiel hits the same coffee stand drive-thru at the same time, on the same day, every week.

This week his punch card is full and he’s due for a free coffee. 

Tiny Shorts is there before him, for once, chatting Charlie up in the window. Castiel debates rolling up his window, but today he is listening to the man’s suggestion - Liszt - and rather enjoys it. And part of him wants the man to know that he’s listening to his suggestion, to know that Castiel broke out of his routine (he was, originally, going to finish all of his favorite Russian composers and then switch to his favorite Swedish composers. Liszt is Hungarian, which is quite a few steps backwards in the alphabet Castiel has been keeping to, and while initially it felt strange, Castiel allowed the music to carry him away.); not that this stranger has really any idea as to how precious Castiel’s routine is to him. 

The man glances over his shoulder, and Castiel’s heart skips a beat. Instead of walking to Castiel’s car like a normal person, the man jogs, the muscles of his pecs bouncing slightly, drawing attention to his hard nipples and sweaty collarbones, and Castiel swallows thickly, reaching to turn down his radio a bit. 

“Mornin’!” the man pauses, listening intently, and then grins huge. “You’re listenin’ to ‘im! Awesome. I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I am always open to suggestions,” Castiel replies, honestly.

“So when I suggest you let me buy you your coffee…?” The man has an amused smile on his lips. 

Castiel holds up his punch card. “Today it’s on the house.”

Something like a pout flickers across the man’s face, and Castiel thinks his pants get a little tight. “Damn.”

“DEAN!” Charlie’s voice comes from the walk-up window. 

The man - oh, _Dean_ \- turns to look at her. Charlie must know him, after all. Sneaky.

“DO THE THING.” She yells.

Dean looks down at Castiel’s smile. “What if I do something in exchange for buying your coffee?”

Castiel frowns. “What on earth could you-”

“DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!” Charlie practically screams. For a lesbian, she at least knows how to appreciate the fine sculpture of the male (this male’s) body.

Dean backs up, takes off his little backpack, and then drops to the ground. 

Castiel watches in abject horror as Dean starts doing push ups, Charlie counting loudly from the window. Women in the cars around them start cheering and counting with Charlie - some of them throw their punch cards at Dean in some weird mockery of throwing money at a stripper - and Castiel buries his face in his hands, sinking down in his seat while _Liebestraume_ plays in distinct discord against the cheering women. He peeks through his fingers just in time to see Dean hop back up to stand, his body sweating anew, glistening in the early morning sun, his cheeks and chest flushed from exertion. 

If Castiel could drive away from the situation, he would. As it is, he’s stuck between a Prius and a Corolla, whose drivers are clapping happily at the end of the show. Covering his eyes with one palm, Castiel starts counting backwards from one hundred. He’s embarrassed, aroused, and feeling incredibly flustered and jumbled at Dean’s spontaneous show of masculine prowess. 

He can smell Dean before he sees him - a mix of musk, sweat, and melting sunscreen - and Castiel takes in a deep, shuddery breath. 

“Here.”

Castiel feels a slight breeze and opens his eyes to blink down into his lap, where a dozen nearly full punch cards decorate his thighs. He glances up at Dean, who sends him a lofty smirk. 

“Since you won’t let me buy you a drink.”

Dean retreats from the car, grabs his bag, and jogs away like he didn’t just give all of these moms and high school girls the show of their lifetime. Women are still hooting and hollering, apparently totally fine with the fact that Dean gave their punch cards to Castiel, and by the time Castiel pulls up to the window, he’s wishing furiously or a sinkhole to open up and swallow him, his car, and this godforsaken coffee stand whole. 

“Morning~” Charlie says, chipper as usual. She plucks Castiel’s full punch card from his loose fingers, hands him his drink, and looks way too pleased with herself. “Looks like you won’t be buying coffee for a while, whether or not Tiny Shorts buys them for you.”

“That was…” Castiel is staring at the center of his steering wheel.

“Amazing?” Charlie supplies.

“Horrendous.”

He can feel Charlie’s eye roll shake his car. “Mr. Novak, are you straight?” 

Castiel flushes at the direct question. “I would consider myself neither here nor there, Charlie.”

Charlie seems to understand. “But you find Dean attractive, right?”

“Conventionally,” Castiel mutters. 

Charlie reaches out to put a hand gently on Castiel’s shoulder. Instead of flinching away like he normally would, Castiel relaxes minimally. “He’s actually a super nice guy. Really flirty and cocky, yeah, but he’s got a heart of gold. Maybe you should give him a chance.”

Castiel puts his coffee in his cup holder, running his hand over his face idly and exhaling slowly. “I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“How could you?” Charlie asks, confused. Then after a pause, “ _Oh._ Because of the here nor there thing.” She laughs a little. “Dean isn’t the hit-it-and-quit-it type. I don’t think he’d mind.”

“How do you know so much about him?” Castiel asks. He catches sight of the car behind him inching closer in his mirrors and knows that his time chatting is almost up. 

“He’s my trainer at the gym,” Charlie says, playfully patting her bicep. Of _course_ she knew him. Sneaky, sneaky. 

Then the career sinks in. Great. A professional athlete, basically. Castiel is only any sort of defined because he’s naturally thin and eats decently and gets most of his exercise by occasionally working with contractors on job sites he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving alone. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Charlie reaches out and puts two fingers to Castiel’s temple. “I command thee, halt those thoughts!” she drops her fingers and grins. “Next week have a real conversation with him.”

The Corolla inches closer. 

Castiel nods curtly. “I’ll think about it.” 

He pulls out of the drive-thru, head spinning. 

\--

Castiel hits the same coffee stand drive-thru at the same time, on the same day, every week.

Today he breaks routine.

He parks in a slot, instead of getting in line with his car. He had thought about it for a week straight - about talking with Dean. A real conversation. Face to face. Without his car to shield him. Steeling his resolve he turns off his car, leaves the windows down, and gets out. He walks up to the window where Charlie greets him as enthusiastically as ever, and when he orders a bottle of water with his americano her eyes twinkle in understanding. Castiel moves to the quaint picnic table, very aware that people waiting in live for the drive-thru will be able to see him talking with Dean, and tries not to get gun shy. 

Dean jogs up about five minutes later, his lips smiling, but mild confusion flashing in his eyes. Castiel holds up the bottled water and tension bleeds from the other man’s frame as he comes close enough to take it, uncapping it and chugging it down in one go. He sits on the same bench as Castiel, which Castiel had been half expecting, and sends Castiel a sunny smile.

“Good morning.” 

Castiel chews his lip, fidgeting with his plastic cup. He drinks his americanos iced year round, and the sound of the straws clunking around grounds him a bit. “I’m asexual.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Dean’s fingers gently tug on Castiel’s rolled up sleeve. Castiel glances up to look at Dean, who is brighter than the morning sun, and smiling softly. “Alright.” 

Castiel blinks a few times. _Alright_? “You… wish to pursue something romantic with me, do you not?” 

Dean laughs a little, shrugging. “Yeah- I mean. Look, I know we don’t know each other, and obviously your preferences are a source of insecurity for you-” Castiel shrugs to try and play off the fact that Dean hit the nail on the head “-but it’s no biggie. I wanna get to know you.” 

Castiel squints, taking Dean’s honest words into consideration. Then: “Do you promise not to do push ups in public again?” 

Dean laughs a little louder, “How many free coffees did I get you though?” 

“Four,” Castiel replies. “The rest of the punch cards are almost full.” 

“You look really cute when you’re uncomfortable,” Dean says offhandedly. 

Castiel stares down at his clear cup and the dark liquid within, feeling his cheekbones heat up a fraction. After a moment, he says, “My name is Castiel.” 

Dean turns around on the bench so he can lean his back against the table, bringing his elbows up onto the ledge. His scent gets stronger, and Castiel resolutely resists taking a big whiff. “Can I call you Cas?” 

Castiel puts his cup down on the table. Picks it up again. Puts it down. The ice clunks softly. “Yes.”

“Cool.” Dean shifts a little so he can face Castiel a bit better. “What are you listening to this week?” 

Castiel moves his straw around, the weird screeching sound fluttering alongside the butterflies in his stomach. “Mahler.” 

Dean nods, and then silence falls again. After a few moments, he says, “So: can I buy you a coffee?”

Castiel smiles wryly. “I’ve already gotten one for the day.”

Dean tilts his head this way and that, lips pursing as he contemplates Castiel’s words. After a moment, he grins. “That wasn’t a ‘no’.” 

Castile’s smile widens a fraction, eyes still on his coffee. “It was not.” 

“Awesome,” the soft affection in Dean’s voice makes Castiel look up into his eyes. When their gazes meet, Dean’s grin widens. “Awesome.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes, reaching out to gently shove Dean’s shoulder. The skin on skin contact is electric in a way he’s never felt before, and he wants desperately to hold on, but he lets go, knowing that although it’s the first time he’s touched Dean, it won’t be the last. “You’re easy to please.” 

“That’s good for you, ain’t it?” Dean replies with a wink. 

Castiel flushes at the joke, and instead of feeling insulted, he feels… light. 

Dean broke his structured routine.

Castiel thinks that this is a risk worth taking. 

“Calm your ego,” Castiel says as he stands up from the picnic table. Dean watches him with an amused smirk, to which Castiel finds himself saying, “It wasn’t the push ups that did me in, by the way.”

Dean raises an intrigued brow. 

“It was those tiny red shorts,” Castiel tosses his empty cup into the garbage and starts heading back towards his car.

“Ha!” Dean crows. “I knew you couldn’t resist my bod!” 

“You do seem to have a strange advantage,” Castiel agrees. Dean is still sitting on the picnic bench when Castiel opens his car door with a _crrrk_. He looks at Dean thoughtfully, who is still looking at him with a sort of awestruck grin, and then Castiel lifts his left hand to shoot Dean a finger gun. “See you next week, Dean.” 

Dean’s still laughing when Castiel pulls away, and Castiel finds himself smiling at nothing, Dean’s warm replacing the rays of early morning sun. 

\--

Castiel hits the same coffee stand drive-thru at the same time, on the same day, every week.

And on the same day, at the same time, every week, Dean and Castiel start getting to know each other.

Being neither here nor there for once doesn’t feel like a burden.

Not when Dean shines as brilliantly as he does.

**Author's Note:**

> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)  
> i will be attending vancon!


End file.
